


On the Eve of Your Departure, I Bid You Farewell

by Arumattie



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Heavensward Spoilers, M/M, Miqo'te, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arumattie/pseuds/Arumattie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of reprieve. That was all they wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Eve of Your Departure, I Bid You Farewell

**Author's Note:**

> Breaking in the new AO3 with smut. Yes, good.
> 
> Based on my player character (for the most part) and about 5000% the fault of my enabler. GOSH. ♥

How had it come to this?

Desperation, he thought to himself—the fear of losing even more than they already had. His heart still ached, even now, when he thought of Haurchefant’s death, and he wondered if Ser Aymeric felt the same, nagging and biting from deep within, or if something else drove him.

Theirs were heavy burdens to bear but bear them they would—bravely and boldly, with no thought to self-sacrifice. All the same, they were yet human, of flesh and blood, so could anyone fault them for seeking a moment of reprieve? To forget that the fate of a nation (nay, a realm) rested upon their shoulders?

Locked away in Aymeric’s private chambers, Amh’tan could scarcely recall how he’d gotten there; brief recollections of his wrist being grabbed and hurried words whispered in his ear came to mind, but naught else. (He didn’t care to remember. Not now when he had warm lips pressed to his throat, a tongue tracing the fluttering of his pulse.) The room was dark, as were the night skies, and save for the flickering flames from the fireplace, the space was filled with shadows, dancing across their skin.

Armor and clothing created a haphazard trail from the door to the bedroom, to the bed where Aymeric had him pinned, one large hand braced against his shoulder; the other cupped his chin, tilting his face so that they could kiss—starved and frantic. There was no finesse to the way their mouths moved together, teeth clacking against each other on more than one occasion, and their breaths were harsh in each other’s spaces.

“We shouldn’t,” Amh’tan protested, albeit weakly and without conviction. Aymeric shook his head and shifted, drawing his partner’s attention sharply to the hard length pressed to his thigh.

“A moment of reprieve, my friend. Please. That is all that I ask.”

_Some wounds do not heal._ The words echoed, unbidden, in his head, and with that anguished look upon his face, Amh’tan simply could not refuse the Lord Commander—could not deny _himself_ the very same. Widening the spread of his legs, he allowed Aymeric to better settle between them before circling his arms around his broad frame, claw-like fingernails digging into pale flesh. 

Taking the invitation for what it was, Aymeric rocked his hips forward, dragging quiet sighs from the both of them—the friction shooting electricity down their spines. Amh’tan arched his back, pressing them closer together and exposing the delicate curve of his throat. When he felt teeth dig into the juncture between neck and shoulder, he hissed, eyes squeezing shut of their own accord.

“Careful—careful! Not where someone can see,” he whispered, one hand dragging down the pale expanse of Aymeric’s back.

The Lord Commander said not a word, laving the irritated skin with his tongue in apology instead. He shifted then, dragging his mouth lower down Amh’tan’s chest and leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Just above his heart, Aymeric nipped lightly at him, worrying the skin until it bloomed a delightful red, and those pale eyes looked up to meet his own for the briefest of moments.

Amh’tan wondered: did the man think of someone else here in his bed?

Calloused hands wandered down his front and sides before settling on one sharp hipbone; the other was braced against the mattress, digging into silken sheets. Aymeric continued his wayward path downwards, pausing to lavish attention on one nipple and then the other (by the _Twelve_ , the man had a wicked mouth), before stopping at his groin.

Aymeric’s breath came in hot puffs against his skin, and Amh’tan stared, chest heaving, at the darkened ceiling above him. Never in a thousand years would he have imagined himself in this situation, but now he waited, almost afraid to look down at the other, and then—and _then_ there was warm, velvety heat around him.

Were it not for the hand pressed against him, his hips would have lifted from the sheets, but as it stood, his movements were in vain. His hands went to tangle automatically in soft, black locks, and he groaned, the sound loud in the otherwise silent room. A flush crept onto his cheeks when he heard himself; Amh’tan lifted a hand and bit at his wrist, trying to stifle himself.

Bright pinpricks of pain lighted his nerves as sharp canines broke skin, but it was not that that caused the muffled groan; it would be the loss of the mouth upon him. The shifting of the mattress made him open his eyes (when had he ever shut them?), and there he found Aymeric looking at him, one hand wrapped gently around his forearm.

“Pray, do not hold back the sounds of your voice. I would hear them,” he said, quietly like a secret. Lifting the bitten wrist to his lips, he pressed a kiss there before releasing it and returning to his previous occupation.

And as requested, Amh’tan did nothing to hold back his pleasure, feeding Aymeric moan after moan; his hands shifted ceaselessly, grasping at the pillow beneath his head, to the sheets ruined beneath him, and then to the Lord Commander, tugging none too gently at his hair. Pleasure pooled low in his belly, drawing his body taut as he grew closer and closer to climax, but no-- _no_ —this was not how he wanted it to end.

“Aymeric, stop—Aymeric!” Once more that dark head lifted, and Amh’tan all but whined at the loss. He swallowed, hard, and took a deep shuddering breath to regather his thoughts. Aymeric shifted to his knees between his legs and placed a calming hand against his thigh, stroking lightly. Amh’tan reached for him, and he shifted closer, pressing a chaste kiss to his palm before bending to allow their mouths to meet again. 

He could taste just a little of himself on the other’s tongue (strange but not entirely unpleasant), and Amh’tan took a moment to enjoy it all—the more languorous slide of their tongues , the softness of his partner’s lips, the way his hair tickled his brow. Aymeric was a warm weight above him, pressing him into the mattress in all the right ways, and he hummed his pleasure into the small space between them.

Once more, he would be the one to break the kiss, but this time, he kept the other close, their lips brushing when he spoke. “Take me,” he murmured, as he rolled his hips upwards. 

There was a sharp inhale from Aymeric, a moment’s hesitation. “Are you certain? You leave tomorrow for Azys Lla.”

“All the more reason.”

“A moment then.” The man pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and then rose from the bed, leaving Amh’tan feeling cold with the loss. Thankfully, Aymeric’s disappearance was brief, as he reappeared shortly with a small vial of oil.

Amh’tan thought he could see the slightest tremble to Aymeric’s hands as he uncorked the container, filling the air with the scent of lavender. Was it from anticipation? From need? Or perhaps it was trepidation over what may happen when the sun rose once more…

The Lord Commander unceremoniously pressed one long finger into him, forcing all thoughts (and breath) out of Amh’tan, and he yowled, toes and tail curling at the sensation. Aymeric cursed and moved as if to withdraw but was stopped with a snarl and sharp nails digging none too gently into his shoulder.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he hissed, all but glaring at his partner—daring him to question the statement.

“Stubborn fool,” was the only response he got before Aymeric caught his mouth with his own, more teeth than anything else. With his attention caught by the kiss, the burn of the intruding finger lessened as it continued to shift within him, and when Aymeric at last found _that_ spot inside him, pain bloomed into pleasure, forcing his spine to curve sharply off the mattress.

Amh’tan _felt_ rather than saw the smile on Aymeric’s face.

A new sort of torment began then as the Lord Commander proceeded to toy with his prostate, massaging and tapping it in turns, until Amh’tan was all but delirious beneath him. It was then, and only then, that Aymeric pressed another finger into him, sliding slickly past stretched muscle. The pleasure coursing through his veins ebbed (but only just)—it was enough to give Amh’tan the sense to nip at Aymeric’s lower lip, though, as if chastising him for his earlier hesitation.

He allowed the other to thrust into him with his fingers for a moment longer before grabbing at his wrist, pulling Aymeric’s hand away from his entrance. “Enough. I’m ready.”

This time, the Lord Commander did not question Amh’tan. He merely pressed a kiss to his forehead and shifted to his knees. Aymeric grabbed the discarded bottle of lavender oil, dribbling some of the fluid onto his hand and then slicked himself with it, finishing his preparations. Skin sheened with sweat, Amh’tan looked on with hooded eyes as Aymeric pressed into him in one long, smooth stroke, seating himself with a little grunt.

_Shite_ , it felt good to be filled again after so long. He felt full to bursting, and yet, all he wanted was more. Amh’tan hooked his ankles behind Aymeric’s back and shifted impatiently, encouraging him to continue—and continue he did with a fervor.

Withdrawing almost to the tip, Aymeric braced his hands on Amh’tan’s hips and drove back in with a fierce snap of the hips that had him sliding towards the head of the bed. The force of the movement shoved a loud groan out of Amh’tan’s mouth, the volume of his voice growing with each and every thrust; he’d be hoarse by the end of this, throat gone raw.

Over and over and over, the Lord Commander filled him, pressing into him in such a way that his cock would graze his prostate on almost every pass. His sense of time had long since escaped him; Amh’tan knew not how long they fucked, did not _care_. Oh, he _ached_ for his release, but at the same time, for this—this _pleasure_ to end—seemed such a tragedy. After all, there was a chance that this would be the last time anyone would ever touch him so intimately, let alone Ser Aymeric.

The thought stung more than it should have.

Aymeric had dragged his hips up off the bed, and Amh’tan struggled to meet his thrusts, his mind in beautiful disarray. His blood was pounding in his ears, rabbit-quick, and he could never seem to get enough air in his lungs; above him, Aymeric had his head lowered in concentration, lips parted on gasping breaths and pale skin flushed from exertion.

“C-close,” he managed, reaching blindly for Aymeric; his hand closed around his forearm, fingernails digging half-crescents into his skin. His partner merely dipped his head in response and all but bent Amh’tan in half, driving into him from a totally different angle. With his knees now by his ears, he whimpered in need as he took himself in hand, shakily stroking himself to completion in time with Aymeric’s thrusts.

Body drawing taut, Amh’tan came with a shout, spurting across his belly and chest. Aymeric hissed as he clamped down around him, and the snap of his hips became erratic until at last he climaxed with a drawn-out moan, finishing not long after Amh’tan.

Panting, they stayed that way for a moment longer before Aymeric carefully withdrew, collapsing on the bed beside him with one long arm slung over his chest. “Give me a moment, friend, and I shall clean you up,” he murmured, voice muffled.

Amh’tan merely nodded his head and said nothing more. Now that they were parted—that he was no longer _one_ with another—he felt strangely alone, despite the warm body right beside him and the pleasure still coursing in his veins. The hollow feeling only grew when he felt Aymeric shift beside him, leaving the comfort of the bed, and as he listened to him disappear out of the room to fetch something, Amh’tan pressed his arm over his eyes and let out a shuddering sigh. The weight of responsibility felt all the heavier now, now that he had felt what freedom was like.

He wondered: had this all been a huge mistake?


End file.
